Call Me Harold
by Foxglove Chant
Summary: A challenge recently presented the question, What if Harry hadn't been mistreated by the Dursleys? Well, he'd be a little different, wouldn't he? Chapter 4 up!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: I began this story for a challenge, but couldn't finish it in time. I like it, though, so I'm posting this chapter in the hope that I'll then be motivated to finish it. Please review if you enjoyed it, or if you have any comments. Thank you!

Petunia opened her font door and shrieked. There was a _baby_ on her doorstep! Well honestly! Cautiously, she bent over its basket to peer at the child. A nasty-looking cut bled on its forehead and Petunia suppressed a twinge of pity. When the baby blinked open its sleepy green eyes, the scrawny woman shrieked again.

Vernon Dursley came panting up to the front door. Pet, what's wrong? he bellowed.

Petunia's voice was faint. Vernon, it's Lily's boy. Someone's left him here! She was cradling the boy to her chest, having snatched him from his basket upon recognising him.

Close the bloody door, her husband snapped. Don't need the neighbours looking in!No, no, quite right, Petunia murmured to the baby, rocking him gently. She nudged the basket inside and shut the door. Vernon, look, there's a note.

The young couple settled themselves in the living room, their own son in his third cradle by the fireplace. His parents ignored his wailing with a patience born of long experience. Petunia still held the boy - Harry, his name was. Such a common name. Vernon held the note gingerly in his hands. He twisted his mouth in distaste as he broke the wax seal and unrolled the thick paper.

I hate that sort, Petunia, I really do. Look at this note, did you ever seen anything so weird?Vernon, read it!Dear Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley - Vernon shot his wife a panicked look. They know who we are!Of course they do, Vernon, they left the boy here, didn't they?Right. Hrm. Dear Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley, I regret to inform you of the deaths of James and Lily Potter at the hand of Lord, er, Thingy.

Petunia's eyes filled with tears. She had suspected this, of course, but to hear Vernon pronounce her sister's death was quite another matter.

Er - is - was - that your sister, dear? Vernon's eyes widened at the sight of his wife in tears. Petunia nodded, unable to speak. Vernon patted her awkwardly on the shoulder a few times before turning back to the letter.

Ahem. Right. The Potter's son Harry has miraculously survived the attack. We have ascertained that the best place for him is with you, his only surviving family. Petunia! They want us to -Yes, yes. Keep reading.

Vernon frowned, but did as his wife asked. Due to an ancient m - m - Petunia cut in.

Harry will be protected by his mother's sacrifice so long as he lives with her blood relatives. You will have care of him for the next ten years, until he is of age to attend Hogwarts School of, um, Whatnot. He must then spend his summers with you to ensure his continued protection. When he reaches the age of seventeen, your obligation to him will be fulfilled. If you agree to care for Harry, please sign the bottom of this, er, parchment. If you feel you cannot care for your nephew, send an owl to Hogwarts School of Whatnot and we will make alternate arrangements. Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore and there's a bloody great list of titles. This bloke thinks highly of himself, Pet. Petunia began, what do you think?I think whoever wrote this letter is a lunatic! All those goings on about protection and owls and - you know. The m' word. Never wanted anything to do with that lot.Oh, of course not! Petunia was quick to agree. No, we'll have to raise him to be normal, like us.Raise - you aren't seriously thinking of taking the blighter in, Pet?He's my nephew! And look at that letter, he hasn't a soul in the world to care for him. Why would they give him to us, else?

Vernon frowned. I still say -He's my flesh and blood, Vernon! And you know what the doctor said - after Dudley - well, don't you want another child? Her eyes again brimmed with tears.

Oh. Er. Hm.And think of the boy, if we don't raise him, they'll give him to one of their own families. I don't want my nephew raised by freaks!Hm, yes, when you put it that way ... Vernon trailed off. Must we, Pet? his wife answered. We'll treat him just as normal as can be, and he'll turn out all right. You'll see.Aye, I'll squash all the abnormalcy out of the little bugger.I don't want any freaks in this house, Petunia. We need to straighten the boy out!But Vernon, we musn't treat him badly. He'll never listen to us if we're always yelling. And he's such a good little thing. She rubbed his back. So quiet.I suppose, Vernon grumbled.

Petunia smiled at her husband. Now we can't keep calling him Harry. He'd be quite disappointed with a name like that, next to our Dudley. What do you think of Harold?Sight better than Harry.We'll put him in Dudley's second bedroom. They'll grow up just like brothers!Now don't go crying again, Pet. Vernon shifted in his seat, then stood. I'd bet get to the store. We're going to need another cradle, some nice plush bears, blankets, pyjamas ...Don't forget diapers. I'd say he's two sizes smaller than our Dudders. Oh, pick up some bottles, soothers, that sort of thing. He and Dudley oughtn't to share.No need for sharing! Vernon chuckled. They'll both have the best of everything, don't you worry.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews of Chapter 1.

Ten years later, Petunia once again blinked back tears as she regarded her sons. She was so proud of them, but her heart could hardly stand the thought of them leaving. Why, only a few years ago they had been toddlers, learning to walk and scrapping with each other at every opportunity. Petunia would try to stop them but Vernon would just laugh and say that boys would be boys. And they would: they had grown to be the stars of their football team, Harold as a forward and Dudley in the net. Football games were the only time they didn't fight. Wiping her eyes, Petunia stepped forward and tried to stop the two from belting each other with their Smeltings sticks.

Now boys! she scolded. Can you at least wait until you're at school?Aw, Mum, whined Dudley, When we're at school I'll have to protect this skinny kid from all the older boys. I have to hit him now!

Harold frowned. I can take care of myself, you know. I am the fastest boy in school.Better watch you aren't running away all the time, Harold. They don't like cowards at Smeltings.

Harold sighed, and Petunia felt his frustration. No matter what he said or did, Harold never seemed to measure up to Vernon's standards. Still, she knew that her husband loved the boy, and she was careful to spoil him a bit to make up for Vernon's seeming coldness. She didn't understand why he put up that front; she had seen how proud he was when Harold scored goals for his team, and even when he brought home a perfect test. Dudley never did either of those things, of course, but they were very proud of him too. To think that both her sons were attending such a prestigious school! And leaving home!

Mum, leave off! Harold protested. There's nothing to cry about.Your mother and I are very proud of you both, Vernon intoned. Now go try those Smeltings sticks outside in the yard, eh?Don't get your new uniforms dirty! Petunia called after them, but they gave no sign of having heard her. Sighing a little, she turned to her husband. Do you think it's safe yet?Not yet. Not until they're at Smeltings.But Vernon, we haven't heard a word from them in ten years. They must understand, he's our son, we aren't going to let them take him away.

Vernon shook his head. That lot don't think the way we do, Pet. They aren't logical. I expect we'll be hearing from them shortly. But don't you worry, he added, we'll send them packing. Petunia began, do you think we ought to ... warn Harold?What do you mean? He knows how dangerous that lot is.But he isn't expecting to hear from them. He might do something - unexpected - if he's surprised. It was a very trying fact of Petunia's life that her adopted son didn't see eye to eye with her and Vernon on some matters. Although he had a rigid inner moral code, Harold didn't conform to all of the Dursley's rules. For example, he wouldn't think twice about disobeying his parents, but it never occurred to him to cheat at football. It was odd how her sons were opposites in that way.

Hm, yes, I suppose. Better do it now, then, the letter could arrive any day.

Shaking slightly, Petunia went to call the boys inside.

Moments later, her family had gathered in the parlour. Petunia bustled around the kitchen, putting a tray together with tea and cake. In her house, food made the world go round. Entering the parlour, she smiled brightly and set the tray on the table.

Boys, your mother and I want to talk to you about something.

Dudley and Harold exchanged looks.

You remember those nutters we told you about, Harold. The lot that did your parents in. 

Harold nodded, his face stony.

When you were given to us, Petunia cut in, they left a note saying that we would be hearing from them when you were older.

Harold raised an eyebrow. How old? Petunia admitted. We expect they'll send a letter any day.Well - what for? her son demanded. They left me here, didn't they? Didn't want me then, so what do they want with me now?They want you to attend some ruddy school. We won't have it, of course. You're going to Smeltings with Dudley, just like I did.

Dudley, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, then broke in. What do they want _him_ for? He's just a speccy git. Petunia frowned at her eldest. Dudley was often jealous of Harold's intelligence and popularity, although he had many friends himself and was the apple of his father's eye. 

They want Harold because my sister and that man she married were involved with their lot, and they think they have some claim to Harold. But don't worry, dear, she added, we don't intend to let them take you anywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Harold and Draco's conversation is lifted directly from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_; everything in quotations belongs, verbatim, to JK Rowling.  
**  
A/N: **Sorry this chapter took longer than anticipated. The next chapter will likely take a while as well, since unlike the previous chapters, it isn't already written. On the other hand, I'm looking forward to writing it. Your kind reviews continue to motivate me ) Thanks.

Not take me anywhere, eh, Harold muttered, eyeing the large man askance as they rode the London Underground. What a nutter. I can't believe I'm here.

How he had come to be there was an odd story indeed. When Harold's letter had arrived from Hogwarts - funny name for a school, Harold thought - the Dursleys had thrown it away unopened. They had done so with the dozens and then hundreds of letters that followed. Father had wanted to take the car and go on vacation to escape them, but Mum had flatly refused to be away from home on Harold's birthday. Harold had been glad; Father had been acting very strangely and it hadn't seemed wise to indulge him. Given his current situation, the boy was rethinking his opinion.

One week after the first letter had arrived, the Dursleys had been awoken by someone pounding on their front door. Father had taken a poker from the fireplace on his way to answer it, only to have the poker bent into a pretzel by the enormous man who stood on their doorstep. The man turned out to have been sent by Hogwarts, since Harold hadn't opened any of his letters.

The letter, when Harold finally opened it, hadn't held any big surprises. As his parents had told him, it was a letter of acceptance to the wizard school, and contained a list of truly strange school supplies. These had aroused the boy's curiosity - dragonhide gloves? Made from real dragons? - but he hadn't been overly concerned, even when the man was shut in the parlour with his parents for an hour. He and Dudley had tried to listen at the keyhole, but for some reason they hadn't been able to hear a thing. Their parents finally emerged, looking pale and frightened, and Father had announced that Harold would attend that school. Mum had tearfully gone on to explain that Harold's magical powers would apparently develop whether he went to the weird school or not, but they would be dangerous if he didn't learn to control them. 

That was how Harold came to be riding the Underground alone with a man he was starting to suspect of being a real giant.

Er, Hagrid?

The giant looked up from his knitting. Eh, Harry?It's Harold. And I've just been reading over this list again - can we really get all these things in London?Sure, if yeh know where to look! Hagrid was relentlessly cheerful, and Harold found himself warming to the man against his will. They passed quite a pleasant day among the incredible shops of Diagon Alley, finding and buying all the objects on Harold's list that he still wasn't sure he believed in. The apothecary was frankly disgusting, even supposing that the labels weren't really true, but what appeared to be a sports shop caught his eye. Could one really race on broomsticks? Excellent.

Hagrid left Harold alone in a clothing shop to be fitted for his uniform. Harold was relieved to see that it was black - Smelting's maroon and orange made a frightening combination with his eyes and pale skin. There was another boy being fitted for his uniform as well, with blond hair and sharp features. He looked Harold over scornfully.

he said, Hogwarts too?

Harold's lips tightened. He didn't even _want_ to go to the freakish school. Who was this boy to look down on him? he replied shortly.

My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands, the other boy continued, sounding bored. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have _you_ got your own broom?

Finally able to get a word in edgewise, Harold could think of no better answer than, Play Quidditch at all? Harold said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch might be.

_I_ do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree.

Harold suppressed a snort.

Know what house you'll be in yet? Harold repeated a trifle impatiently.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Harold made a noncommittal noise. What was the other boy talking about? He hated to feel foolish, and suddenly Harold made up his mind to learn everything he could about the so-called Wizarding World. He didn't want to stay with the freaks a minute longer than necessary, but he wasn't going to give them a reason to look down on him!

"I say, look at that man!" The pale boy exclaimed. Outside the shop, Hagrid was waving to Harold and smiling widely.

"That's Hagrid. Harold lifted his chin, glad to know something the other boy didn't. He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh. I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper, Harold corrected.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of _savage_ - lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant, Harold said coldly. Whoever this boy was, he needed to be taken down a peg or two.

"_Do_ you? the boy sneered. Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead. Harold replied shortly. 

"Oh, sorry. But they were _our_ kind, weren't they?"

Harold felt his temper growing short. "They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean, he replied with scorn to match his companion. He wasn't proud of his heritage, but he bloody well wasn't going to let this freak snub him for being normal.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

Harold was ready to throw caution to the winds, launch into a tirade on the supposed greatness of old wizarding families and tell the other boy just what he could do with his heritage when the witch adjusting his robes interrupted. "That's you done, my dear. Harold hopped off the stool and stalked out of the store, barely glancing at the boy when he drawled, Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose. If that was what wizards were like, Harold was certain he didn't want to be one.

The weirdest part of the day was buying a wand. The man who ran the store was downright creepy and Harold had been glad when a wand - the hundredth-and-thirty-second, by his count - had finally shot out a shower of brightly coloured sparks. Then the odd man had started talking about destiny and had actually touched Harold's scar, so he left as soon as he could. What business was it of the old man's how he had gotten his scar? 

Harold was feeling out of sorts and a little panicky from the encounter with Ollivander when Hagrid came up, carrying two melting ice cream cones and an owl.

Hear yeh are, Harry! he announced, Happy Birthday!You didn't have to do that! Why did you do that? I don't even know you! 

Calm down, Harry. Hagrid placed a large, comforting arm around Harold's shoulders and led him to a nearby bench. It's all a tad overwhelmin', eh? Not what yeh're used to. Here, have your ice cream.

Harold took it and licked doubtfully at the dripping mess. The chocolate seemed to steady his nerves and he looked back up at Hagrid. But why is everyone acting like they know me? I don't understand.

Hagrid frowned. Don't know if I'm the best person to tell yeh this, Harry. But I guess I'm the only one around. Here goes. 

He proceeded to tell Harold a most extraordinary tale: how there had arisen a dark wizard who hated Muggles and cared for nothing but power; how James and Lily, beloved of the wizarding world, had been murdered by that darkest of wizards; how their infant son had miraculously survived; and how the dark wizard had fallen, stripped of his powers and his body by the tiny child.

So yeh see, Harry, everyone here knows who yeh are. Yeh're famous! Yeh're - the _Boy Who Lived_.

Harold could hear the implied capital letters. Well, he had always sought excellence and recognition. Now it appeared it would be handed to him. How ironic that the person whose opinion mattered most to him wouldn't care at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Some of the conversations in this chapter are taken verbatim from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone._

**A/N:** Thanks for your patience with me. True to form, I have waited until I had a paper to write for class before I finished this chapter rolls eyes at self I hope you lot appreciate my procrastinating ways. Thanks also for the reviews of Chapter 3 )

On September first, the entire Dursley family drove to London to see Harold off on the train. Vernon was suspicious of the ticket Hagrid had given their son. Platform 9 3/4 indeed, he snorted under his breath at intervals. Petunia, for her part, was more apprehensive than indignant. Suppose Harold had to wave that wand of his around in front of everybody at Kings Cross? She felt sure she would perish of humiliation.

Dudley was looking around nervously, as if he expected an evil wizard to jump out from behind a pillar. The third time he jumped at the sound of an approaching train, Vernon rested a heavy hand on his son's shoulder and turned to his wife.

I think I'd better take Dudley back to the car, Pet. He's not looking well. If her husband saw Harold roll his eyes, he pretended not to notice. He turned instead to his adopted son and, letting go of Dudley, clapped the younger boy heartily on the back. Well, you're off then, son. I don't want to hear about you getting into trouble, but make sure you show those nutters a thing or two about what a real man is like, eh?Yes sir, Harold replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Bye Harold, Dudley mumbled, then grinned. Harold grinned back and the next moment they were wrestling on the floor, each doing his best to pound his brother into the ground. 

Petunia shrieked, Stop that at once! She lowered her voice to hiss fiercely at them. You're causing a scene and dirtying your clothes. Now get up!

The boys scrambled up, panting and laughing. Dudley grabbed Harold's hand for a last handshake that looked rather painful to Petunia, although Harold didn't complain. Then her husband and son walked back the way they had come, leaving Petunia alone with Harold in the station. 

Let's see, Harold ... There's Platform 9 over there, 9 3/4 must be nearby. She craned her neck in all directions, but no fractions of any sort were in evidence. Turning to her son, she found him watching a large group of redheads intently.

... packed with Muggles, of course, one of them said.

Harold grabbed Petunia's arm and steered her towards the family.

Now what's the platform number? said the mother, a plump, matronly figure.

Nine and three quarters! a small girl piped up, Mum, can't I go ...You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first.

Petunia and Harold had frozen a few metres from the family and listened intently to their conversation. They had to be some of _them_! Petunia stared as the tallest boy marched towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten, but a swarm of tourists crowded in front of him and by the time they had passed, the boy had disappeared. Petunia frowned. She didn't want Harold disappearing like that. 

The family continued to banter and several more sons disappeared, but Petunia could not figure out how they had done it. She noticed abruptly that Harold was no longer at her side - he had walked up to the redheaded family!

Excuse me, he was saying to the woman.

First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too. She gestured to her remaining son. Petunia marched up, attempting to smile.

Harold said. This is my mother. I'm Harold Dursley.Pleased to meet you, the woman responded. She peered at Petunia's outfit, then smiled warmly at Harold. Is it your first year? said Harold. The thing is - the thing is, I don't know how to -How to get on to the platform, Petunia interrupted. She was beginning to feel entirely too comfortable with this woman.

Not to worry, the woman responded cheerfully. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. She turned toward Petunia. I'm afraid you won't be able to follow him, only wizards can do it, you know.

Petunia's lips tightened. She listened as the woman instructed Harold to go on, then turned to him and gathered him up in a tight hug.

Don't get into trouble, now, she murmured in his ear. I don't want that school sending us any more owls.No, Mum, Harold said, wriggling out of her arms. 

Write me letters, if you can send them the normal way. And - be safe.I will. Harold was shifting his weight from foot to foot. Petunia supposed she had better let him go. She resisted giving him another hug and pushed him gently toward the barrier.

Go on, then. I love you! She called after him. Harold turned back, waved, and ran towards the barrier. Petunia winced, shutting her eyes, and when she opened them again, he was gone.

The plump woman sent her own son off, then turned back to Petunia. 

I imagine you'll have lots of questions about Hogwarts, she said. Would you like to come for tea sometime?No thank you, Petunia said coldly. She didn't want to be trapped in any of _their_ houses, and particularly not that of the woman who had made her son disappear. I really must be going. My husband is waiting in the car.

The woman's eyebrow raised, but she smiled pleasantly and shook Petunia's hand. Good luck to you son. I'm sure he'll have a wonderful year. Just send me an owl if you change your mind, I'm Molly Weasley. Petunia answered and walked off towards the car. As if Harold could have a wonderful year with those ... _people!_ She brushed the tears from her withered cheek and walked on.


End file.
